


Daylight

by sifuhotman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Universe, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rated E for "Emotions"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: There’s so much Suna wants to say. He wants to reassure Osamu that he made the right choice and that his hard work and long hours and chronic exhaustion will be worth it. They’re still young, they’ve got time, Osamu doesn’t have to rush the process, and no matter how endless the late nights might seem, there’s always the promise of dawn breaking over the horizon.But—sometimes—words aren’t enough.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 20
Kudos: 167
Collections: SunaOsa





	Daylight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunarins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarins/gifts).



Suna has gotten used to falling asleep in an otherwise empty bed. It’s not something he prefers, but it’s become the norm. He’s gotten used to Osamu texting him updates, that he’s running late, that ten minutes will turn into thirty minutes which turns into two hours, and eventually, Suna drifts off to sleep in the quiet stillness of their bedroom.

He’s tried staying up for Osamu. Osamu comes home past midnight more often than not, and Suna has to be up early for training sessions in the gym. They operate like clockwork, staggered by twelve hours, give or take.

It’s not the schedule Suna wants, but it’s the one he’s been given. Most nights he’s dead asleep by the time Osamu returns, and he doesn’t even stir. He wakes up to Osamu beside him, snoring, and he’s out before Osamu is awake. By the time he returns to the apartment after practice, Osamu is gone.

There’s a strange loneliness despite the fact that they’re dating each other. It’s swelled up over the better part of the last year. They’re twenty-two and trying to learn how to grow into themselves and each other while pursuing other things, so of _course_ things would be lonely, especially when most of their conversations happen through irregular text messages. And especially when most of their affection is expressed through the onigiri Osamu leaves for him to eat for breakfast and the loads of laundry Suna does for Osamu every Wednesday afternoon.

So when Suna—for whatever reason—is woken up by the creak and dip of the mattress beside him, he cracks open an eye to see Osamu settling into bed with a heavy sigh. 

Suna doesn’t say anything at first. Osamu hasn’t noticed that he’s awake, and in the darkness of their bedroom, illuminated only by the faint moonlight creeping through the windows, Suna can make out Osamu’s silhouette. Strong forehead. Upturned nose. Slender chin. It’s a face Suna has grown familiar with, but he’ll never be tired of it.

Suna inches closer and raises a hand to Osamu’s chin. Osamu flinches a bit, surprised that Suna’s awake, and Suna tilts Osamu’s face towards his.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Rin.” Osamu’s eyes are heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but there’s a tinge there that Suna hates seeing. Osamu forces a smile, one that betrays the distress creasing at the center of his brows. “You should go back to sleep. It’s late.”

“Mm. I’m awake now, though.”

“Sorry for disturbin’ you.”

“Don’t apologize. I slept early.” Suna brushes at Osamu’s hair. He smells how he always does after a shift—a mix of perspiration, rice vinegar, and sesame oil. It brings Suna an odd sense of comfort. 

“Sorry anyway.” Osamu turns on his side to face him. Over the past several months—while juggling his apprenticeship alongside trying to start his own business—Osamu’s face has slimmed out significantly. It’s not that Suna prefers seeing Osamu a couple kilograms heavier, because it doesn’t matter if Osamu is short or small or wide or narrow. What troubles him is that he’s noticed the bags under Osamu’s eyes, and the hollows of his cheeks are more prominent now.

What troubles Suna the most, though, is how Osamu’s lost a spark in his eyes. The kind he saw when they were sixteen and sitting on the bus and Osamu confessed he was quitting volleyball after high school to pursue a career in food service. The spark he saw when Osamu and Atsumu would fight over it and Osamu would stand his ground and not give a fuck about other people’s opinions.

It’s the same spark Suna fell in love with, all those years ago. Back when they were reckless teenagers learning to chase after the things they wanted the most. At the time, Osamu had chased his passion for food. Suna, in turn, had chased after Osamu.

Suna still loves him, of course. But it’s different now. Osamu looks—older. Weary. And although Suna has full confidence that Osamu is on the path he’s meant to be, Suna hates seeing him this way.

“Long day?” Suna asks. He hears Osamu nodding, the brush of hair against the pillowcase.

“You would not believe the fuckin’ shit that happened today.” Osamu reaches for Suna’s fingers, guiding them away from his head and intertwining them with his. His hands feel chapped and rough from the hours he clocks away in the kitchen, scrubbing at dishes and rinsing rice. They’re a little cold, too, and Suna nestles Osamu’s palms against his chest in an effort to warm them up.

“Mm,” Suna hums. Despite Osamu’s cold hands, his body is a radiator, and Suna moves closer to him to steal some of the warmth. “Tell me about it.”

“You don’t wanna hear about it. Trust me.”

“Tell me.” Suna presses a quick kiss on Osamu’s shoulder as his head comes down to rest on his chest. “I wanna know.”

“It’s late—”

“I don’t care. You look stressed. And I’m here. So.” 

Osamu heaves another sigh. “I’m just tired, Rin.” Suna watches as his throat jumps, and a pang of sympathy runs through his chest. He can recognize burnout faster than he can any other emotion, because Suna is familiar with it. He sees it in the way Osamu lets go of Suna’s chest to pinch at his brow, and he hears it in the slight tremor of the tail end of Osamu’s sentences as he speaks. “Kanako quit today. That’s the third employee that’s gone in the past month, and they’re asking me to pick up on her shifts.”

“What?” Suna frowns. “You’re already covering for—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I _know._ Tsujikawa ain’t lettin’ me off cuz he’s stressed as hell and the two candidates that we wanted to hire ghosted us, and y’know, I was supposed to meet up with the realtor today for the rental property. I had to cancel, and she warned me that there was a waitlist, so now _that’s_ prolly gonna fall through.” Osamu sniffles. “And on top of that I had to hear an earful from Mom about this. Sayin’ I should go back to school and stuff, and even though she didn’t say it, I know she ain’t happy it’s takin’ this long.”

Suna nods while tracing careful circles on Osamu’s chest. He’s heard things like this before. For every step forward Osamu takes towards establishing his dream business, life hurls obstacles that send him flying ten steps back. Suna doesn’t envy him. His life is simple in comparison: he wakes up, he goes to practice, he comes home, he relaxes, he goes to practice, he comes home, he relaxes, and goes to sleep.

It hurts to see Osamu struggle to articulate all the things that went wrong today. It hurts more to see him resist saying it, because Osamu isn’t one to want others to shoulder his emotional lows.

“—and—well—I dunno, Rin. I’m just tired.”

Suna lifts his head a little. Osamu is still staring at the ceiling, but the movement of Suna’s head shifting causes him to glance down. He curls one hand into Suna’s hair and offers a sad smile.

Suna wants to tell Osamu that it’ll be okay, and that this is temporary, and that all of his exhaustion will be worth it. But he knows those are promises that do little to provide relief for the burden he’s bearing now. “You should get some rest, then.”

“What about you?” Osamu tries to lighten the tone. “How was yer day?”

Suna shrugs. His day hadn’t been all that exciting. The most notable thing that happened was Komori announcing to the team that he was going to go on a blind date with one of Sakusa’s friends from university. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Better.” Suna snakes a hand under Osamu’s shirt and pushes it flush against the center of his chest. “Now that you’re here.”

“Jesus, Rin. Yer hands are cold.”

“So are yours.”

“Well, I’m not stickin’ my hand up yer shirt.” Osamu lets out a strangled noise as Suna presses his hand into his belly, and Suna laughs quietly. 

His laughter dissolves into another heavy exhalation when he sees the grin slip off Osamu’s face. Osamu has always been a master at guarding his emotions and, in turn, his heart. It’s taken time and patience and many years of friendship for Suna to catch onto the telltale signs that Osamu is upset. The distant look in Osamu’s eyes and the tightened tendon in his jaw give it away.

It’s taken time and patience and many years of friendship for Osamu to feel comfortable enough to even let those indications slip through his cracks. Suna reaches for him, as he always does when Osamu gets like this. “Osamu.”

“I just wish I could skip to five years ahead of time,” Osamu mutters. “I’m so fed up with this.”

“I know.”

But Osamu shakes his head. His breathing is measured and far too even given the strain in his voice. “I’m tryin’ my best. Everyday I wake up and—and I don’t wanna go to work and meet with investors and have phone calls with potential partners and act professional and all that bullshit. I just wanna make food. I don’t wanna do this.”

Suna closes his eyes and digs his forehead into the curve of Osamu’s neck. “I know.”

“I hate feelin’ on edge every single fuckin’ day. I don’t remember the last time anythin’ went smoothly and it’s exhaustin’ bein’ paranoid all the time.”

“I know.”

“It’s like—I can’t even enjoy things anymore.” Suna fels the slightest tremor of Osamu’s jaw against his forehead, and his heart squeezes. His hands roam until they find Osamu’s, clenched in a tight fist resting against his stomach. He gently pries Osamu’s fingers apart and holds his hand. “Even on days that it feels like it’s goin’ well, I’m convinced somethin’ will go bad.”

“I know.”

“And I know my mom is just tryin’ to help, but it feels—” Suna can feel the swell of his throat as he swallows, and hears the crack in Osamu’s voice when he says, “—it feels like I’m just delayin’ the inevitable. I’m gonna just wake up and realize all this ain’t worth it—”

“Osamu.”

“—and I’m better off goin’ to college and gettin’ a respectable degree and workin’ a respectable job and livin’ a respectable life.” Osamu lets loose a shuddery breath. He’s silent for a few moments, and Suna hears a distinct sniffle. When he speaks again, his voice is tight and hoarse. “Maybe she’s right, y’know? And Tsumu, too. Maybe I shoulda listened when they told me to reconsider.”

This, too, has been said before. Suna can distinctly remember the first time Osamu verbally questioned his decision to pursue his dream. He’d gotten drunk—really drunk—and Suna had woken up in the middle of the night to five missed calls: four from Osamu, and one from Gin. Suna picked him up from the bar and hauled him home as Osamu hiccupped through an unrelenting and incoherent tempest of distraught regret.

 _I shoulda just stuck with volleyball_ , he’d said, words slurred together, eyes glazed over as Suna tried to pull off his shoes to get him into bed. _This ain’t worth it if it ain’t workin’, and I’m tired of workin’, Rin._

“You know that’s not what you want.”

“But maybe I can—maybe it’s somethin’ I can work with if—”

“Hey.” Suna props himself up with an elbow and lowers his face a bit. His nose brushes against Osamu’s cheek as he murmurs, “Stop trying to compromise.”

“I ain’t compromising.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m…” Osamu pauses as his mind stretches for words, but his shoulders sag when he comes up short. “Okay. Yeah. I’m compromisin’.”

“You know it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“Yeah.”

“So stop trying to take the easy way out.”

“But it’s temptin’.” The words slip out of Osamu’s mouth. The crack of vulnerability stings when it’s comprised of the things Osamu tucks away for fear of being heard. “God, Rin, sometimes it’s so fuckin’ temptin’. If I just took the easy way, then I could spend more time with you, and more time with my family, and I wouldn’t have to miss any of yer volleyball games…”

Suna carefully tugs Osamu’s face towards him. His skin is soft under his fingers and his mouth is pulled into a tight pout. It would be endearing if it weren’t so heartbreaking, so Suna uses his thumb to press into Osamu’s lips in an attempt to smooth them out. Sleepiness tugs at the back of Suna’s consciousness, but he shoves it away the moment Osamu’s eyes meet his.

“Osamu.”

“Yeah?”

There’s so much Suna wants to say. He wants to reassure Osamu that he made the right choice and that his hard work and long hours and chronic exhaustion will be worth it. They’re still young, they’ve got time, Osamu doesn’t have to rush the process, and no matter how endless the late nights might seem, there’s always the promise of dawn breaking over the horizon.

But—sometimes—words aren’t enough. So Suna presses his lips gently against Osamu’s, brief and easy and chaste, and when he pulls back, he brushes Osamu’s hair off his forehead and says, “I love you. You know that, right?”

Osamu’s features soften. His mouth curls up in a small but genuine smile, one that seeks to nestle itself in Suna’s chest. “Yeah. ‘Course I know that.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, don’t you think?” Suna pecks another kiss on Osamu’s nose.

Osamu huffs a breathy laugh. “I guess I don’t.” 

Suna pauses another moment to look at Osamu’s face, at the faint stubble at his jaw and the worry lines between his eyebrows. A flash of emotion threatens to swallow him whole, and it’s appeased when Suna dips his head down to kiss Osamu properly.

Osamu responds with ready and languid movements. He tastes distinctly like toothpaste and his lips are a little dry, a fact that Suna notices as he runs his tongue slowly across Osamu’s bottom lip. In spite of all the times they’ve kissed before, kissing Osamu is never the same, both in the way that Osamu kisses and the way that Suna experiences it.

Tonight, Osamu takes his time. Maybe it’s because he’s tired—whether physically or emotionally—or maybe it’s because it’s been about two weeks since the last time he and Suna were awake in bed together. Suna holds Osamu’s jaw as he pushes his tongue into his mouth, hearing Osamu sigh as his hands come up to anchor themselves into the dip of Suna’s back.

Suna breaks it suddenly, and it elicits a soft whine from Osamu’s throat. His eyes shine and Suna’s relieved to see that the downturned curve of his mouth has disappeared.

“You’re not doing anything wrong.” Osamu takes a sharp inhale as Suna speaks. Suna can see the protests rising before Osamu has a chance to say them, so he shakes his head. “You’re not.”

“Rin?”

“Hm?”

“I love you so fuckin’ much.” Osamu pulls Suna back down, tugging him on top of his body so Suna no longer has to awkwardly hold himself up with an elbow that’s begun to go numb. His hands, strong and careful and a little warmer than before, hold Suna’s face as he kisses him, aggressively this time, asking for more than Suna originally offered. Suna lets him, because it’s been a while since the fiery passion between them surfaced.

It’s not like that passion has ever disappeared. Suna feels it sporadically, sometimes during the most ordinary moments. Like when he visits the storefront and he sees Osamu hard at work, a wide smile on his face as he serves onigiri and yakitori to eager customers. He knows Osamu feels it, too, like when Suna played his first game as a starter on EJP Raijin, and he’d glance over every time he scored a point to see Osamu’s eyes burning with pride.

But it ebbs and flows much like Osamu’s moods, and Suna knows it’s not realistic to carry that passion all the time, whether it’s for Osamu or volleyball or any other aspirations he might have. It’s infectious enough that Suna is greedy, and he wants to grab hold of it every chance he gets.

So when Osamu slips his fingers under the hem of Suna’s shirt, tracing gently along the ridges of Suna’s stomach, Suna sits up, yanks his shirt off, and tosses it to the side. His skin erupts in a fit of goosebumps and he shivers a little, and Osamu’s eyes crinkle. “It’s cold. Get under the covers.”

“We should get another heater,” Suna mumbles as Osamu brings the covers up over his shoulders. “I think ours is busted.”

“If you cuddle naked, it’s supposed to be good for keepin’ each other warm.”

Suna rolls his eyes as he attempts to maneuver Osamu out of his shirt. “To do that you need to be naked.”

“But it’s cold.”

“So?” Suna kisses the underside of Osamu’s jaw, where soft flesh meets bone. “Warm me up, then.”

Osamu hesitates. “It’s late. You gotta wake up early tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll be tired in practice.”

“Osamu.” Suna pushes up Osamu’s shirt with his fingers, tracing the entire length of his torso. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I missed you.”

Osamu pauses for another second, but he relents, pulling his shirt over his head, and Suna sighs with contentment. He moves back on top of Osamu and indulges in everything that makes up Osamu’s anatomy—from the sharp dip of his collarbones to the delicate taper of his waist, from his thick hair to the soft strokes of his tongue. It doesn’t take much for his body to respond, sending a rush of tingles from his chest to his groin all the way to the tips of his toes.

As demanding as his kisses may be, Osamu has always loved to tease Suna. He grips Suna’s hips firmly and tucks his thumbs in the waistband of Suna’s sweatpants but doesn’t move to pull them down, and when Suna juts his hips forward, seeking friction, Osamu stubbornly keeps him in place. Suna curses and mutters, “You’re an ass,” and Osamu merely laughs. 

His laughter emboldens Suna to push a little further, and he reaches down between them and fits his palm against the bulge of Osamu’s pants. Osamu’s laughter slips into a breathy moan, and when Osamu’s hips twitch, Suna moves his hand to the side and settles it on the curve of Osamu’s thigh.

“ _You’re_ the asshole here,” Osamu says. He lifts one leg knee and slots it between Suna’s thighs. “But you’re my asshole.”

“That doesn’t sound as romantic as it probably sounded in your head.”

“Yeah. It didn’t.” Suna bites at his lip while Osamu presses his knee against his crotch. “But I betcha liked it anyway.”

 _This_ is the version of Osamu that Suna adores the most. The one that isn’t afraid to fight back a bit, even if his opponent is Atsumu or Suna or his own self doubts. This is the Osamu that has existed all along, even if it gets stifled by the excruciating labor that comes with starting a business from ground up. 

Suna loves that the most about Osamu. He has learned a fiery streak of rebellion from Osamu, and if he can give back the smallest sliver of vitality Osamu has shown him, he would.

So when Osamu tries to readjust them to push Suna onto his back, Suna plants a firm palm on Osamu’s chest. “No.”

Osamu stills. “No?”

Suna doesn’t explain anything further. Instead, he preoccupies himself with kissing Osamu’s neck. Osamu tilts his head up to offer access, and his breathing grows heavier when Suna’s tongue and teeth graze his skin.

“I’m proud of you, you know.” Osamu’s breath hitches when Suna murmurs the words against his chest. “I know you think you have to earn that.”

“Rin—”

“But you don’t have to do anything to earn my approval.” Suna slips his hand past the waistband of Osamu’s pants, under the waistband of his underwear, and flattens his palm against the flat of his torso, fingertips trailing the distinct V-shape. 

“You’re teasin’ me,” Osamu complains, and when Suna glances up, he sees Osamu’s mouth, parted with focused anticipation, he thinks his heart might crack from the rush of affection.

“Relax, Osamu.” Suna’s tongue traces the edge of Osamu’s collarbone before he pulls back. “Let me take care of you.”

In response, Osamu hauls Suna back up and presses a hungry series of kisses against Suna’s mouth. Suna’s jaw falls open and he finally slips his fingers around Osamu’s erection. It doesn’t matter if it's a little on the drier side; Osamu shudders all the same when Suna pushes one languid stroke, squeezing at the base before running his hand up. Suna uses his thumb to trace the head, circling at the wetness that’s already gathered there, before repeating the motion. 

“You feel good, Rin.”

“We’re not even having sex yet.”

“Still feels good.” Suna tightens his grip and moves with the calculated pressure he’s grown accustomed to. He can feel Osamu’s thigh tightening beside him as Osamu struggles to keep his breathing steady. “Fuck. Just like—yeah. Like that.”

Suna knows he’s never given the best handjobs—most of the time, the angle is awkward and his arm grows tired—but Osamu relishes every bit of it. He settles one hand on the swell of Suna’s ass, and he mumbles a string of profanities so vulgar even Suna is a little embarrassed. It fuels him, though, to pick up the speed of his hand before slowing down suddenly, when Osamu's legs give a signature clench. 

If he had a choice, Suna would spend every night like this, tugging at Osamu by the seams until he falls apart in his arms. Suna climbs down the length of Osamu’s body, and he carefully guides the rest of Osamu’s clothes off. Osamu lifts his hips long enough to allow Suna to discard his bottoms completely, and Suna sighs when Osamu lies naked before him. He can't see clearly—it’s too dark for that—but all it takes is one glimpse of Osamu’s eyes looking down at him for Suna’s dick to twitch in anticipation. 

He’s always known he’d do anything to care for Osamu. Since the day Osamu asked him out on a proper date. Since the day they first met, first day of high school, all those years ago. 

And now, Suna takes care of Osamu with an unusual tenderness that can only be found in the most earnest of blow jobs. He exhales a laugh, breath fanning over the shaft of Osamu’s groin, and Osamu exhibits a full-body shiver that Suna gets a rise out of. He moves his head up a bit, glances up at Osamu’s wild and wide eyes staring back at him, and, without any preamble, slips his mouth all the way over Osamu’s swollen erection. 

“ _Rin._ ”

Suna presses his tongue flat on the underside of Osamu’s dick before curling against it, savoring the reaction he gets. Most of their sex is like that, both trying to coax reactions out of each other. This time, Osamu responds by lacing his fingers into the roots of Suna’s thick hair, legs falling apart to make room for him. Suna brings his palms flat against the sides of Osamu’s thighs, digging his fingers hard enough that Osamu’s muscles twitch. 

He ignores how his jaw stiffens and focuses instead on finding the right rhythm that works for Osamu. Suna slides the head of Osamu’s dick against the inside of his cheek, and Osamu lets out a strangled choke followed quickly by, “Fuck. You feel good.”

Suna hums, and he feels Osamu’s cock twitch in his mouth in response, and he pulls back up slowly, tracing his tongue along the slit. It’s salty and a little bit musty, and Osamu’s breath catches when Suna sucks his cheeks in gently before sliding off.

“Shit.” Osamu tugs at Suna by the shoulders, and this time, when he guides Suna onto his back, Suna lets him. “You always feel good.”

Suna gazes up at Osamu, who fits his hips right over his. He flinches the moment Osamu drops his weight, pressing firmly against Suna’s crotch, which has been woefully neglected. “Osamu.” Suna circles his arm around Osamu’s shoulders. “Come here.”

Osamu returns his kisses without hesitation. Suna traces the dips of Osamu’s back, all the way up to his shoulders, then down the swell of his ass and the curve of his hamstrings. He’s not as built as he once was as an athlete, and his body is not as full as it was before his work began to take over. But Osamu is gorgeous, and he’s especially wonderful when his naked body grinds slowly against Suna’s.

Suna relaxes his head back as Osamu sucks a hickey onto Suna’s neck. It’s unfair, really, how compliant Suna is around Osamu. Suna isn’t known for being the most cooperative person in the world, nor is he known for being the most considerate person in the world. But around Osamu, Suna is as malleable as putty. 

Osamu slides Suna’s bottoms off, and when his hand finally meets the bare skin of Suna’s erection, Suna exhales a heavy sigh. 

Unlike Suna, Osamu is a bit more erratic this time. His movements are not the slow, calculated ones that Suna knows are tried and true. Osamu reaches with one hand for the bottle of the lube that has its permanent space on the nightstand, and he squeezes a generous amount on the palm of his hand, coating his fingers in it. It’s so slick that it’s almost obscene, and Suna can’t focus on much more than the squelch of liquid as Osamu jerks him off with irregular and frenzied movements.

“I’ll make you feel good, too,” Osamu mumbles. “Like you always do to me. Even when I’m not feelin’ up to speed. You’re always the considerate one.”

Suna manages to gather himself enough to open his eyes—barely. “Osamu—”

“You always take care of me, Rin.” Osamu presses a kiss to Suna’s temple as his wrist twists. Suna’s vision momentarily grows fuzzy from that one lethal movement. “I don’t wantcha to think I only tell you all my garbage to getcha to gimme blow jobs.”

“Maybe—” Suna breaks off to swallow a low groan as his entire lower body clenches. Osamu, sensing it, loosens his grip. “—maybe you would. That sounds like something you’d do.”

“Hmph.” Osamu trails his fingers down the length of Suna’s cock, applying slight pressure to his balls, before moving further down. He presses an index finger against Suna’s entrance, and Suna gasps at the pressure. “Ye of little faith.”

“I have plenty of faith in the kind of person you are.” 

“And what person might that be?”

Suna snorts, and in response, Osamu traces small circles across the delicate skin. A web of knots erupts in Suna’s belly. “The kind of person that’s as much of a troublemaker as people think I am.”

“Someone needs to put you in yer place.”

“Someone needs to put _you_ in your place.”

“You always do that.” Osamu’s words tickle Suna’s ear before he pauses to nip at his earlobe. “You always put me in my place, Rin.”

When Suna yanks him for a kiss, he can feel Osamu smiling against his mouth. Slowly, Osamu slides one finger in, curling it with a firm press, and Suna feels a hot pool of pleasure coil in the center of his stomach. He’s never liked the term ‘love-making’, but with the tender manner in which Osamu keeps his gaze fixed on him, free hand always somewhere on or around Suna’s face—there’s no other word that feels appropriate.

Osamu is careful, as he always is, making sure not to go too quickly, fulfilling Suna's requests when he wants him to move faster. Suna becomes a bundle of nerves lit up like a Christmas tree, pulsing with every press of Osamu’s fingers against him. 

It doesn’t take long for Osamu’s meticulous attention to fuel Suna’s hunger for more, and he offers a garbled, “Condom,” before shoving Osamu’s hand away from him. Osamu complies, and the heat of his body disappears as he reaches over to grab a packet. Suna hears the tear of the foil, the puff of breath Osamu uses to unfurl it a little, and the squeeze of the bottle of lube. Suna wiggles up the bed a bit, adjusting the pillow under his neck until Osamu returns. 

He presses his thighs on either side of Osamu’s hips, waiting for Osamu to press forward, but Osamu doesn’t move. He looks down at Suna with endearment that’s almost enough to distract from the demands of Suna’s body.

Osamu slides his hand against Suna’s neck, palm warm and flush against his throat. When Suna swallows, he’s sure Osamu feels it. “Rin.”

“Yeah?”

Osamu pauses. There’s a flicker of insecurity when he chews at his bottom lip. Suna presses Osamu’s lip down with his thumb once more. “Tell me it’ll be okay,” Osamu says in a voice softer than Suna has ever known. He lines up their hips as his eyes veer off to the side. “Please.” Once he gets started, Osamu rambles on. “Tell me I ain’t destined to be an apprentice my whole life and that it’ll stop bein’ so fuckin’ exhaustin’ all the time. That I won’t be spendin’ more time at work than with you, and that I made the right choice doin’ all this shit for wantin’ to work in food service.”

“Osamu.”

For a second, it looks like Osamu might cry. His lower lip trembles and his eyes shine and, more than anything in the world, Suna wants to take some of the stress off his shoulders.

He can’t do that, though. It’s Osamu’s dream, not Suna’s, and the most he can do is press a kiss at the corner of Osamu’s downturned mouth as he murmurs against it, “It’ll get better. Things will be okay.”

Osamu nods tightly, and Suna reaches to guide the head of Osamu’s cock towards him. 

“You made the right choice,” Suna reassures him. He adjusts the angle of his hips, pausing when Osamu reaches to the side to grab a stray pillow and prop it under his lower back. “Even if it doesn’t feel that way.”

“I did?”

“You make good choices. I mean, you chose me, right?” Suna gives him a teasing smile, one that Osamu returns before dipping his head to kiss him.

Osamu kisses him with desperation, tugging at Suna’s lips with his teeth, pushing his tongue and tickling the roof of Suna’s mouth. Their lips smack when he pulls back again. “You were the best choice I ever made.”

“I _hope_ I’m not the best choice you ever make.” Suna snorts a laugh. “Don’t you think you should be striving higher?”

“What could be higher than you?” Osamu says without the teasing lilt, without the smug grin. He says it with conviction, and when he smiles down at him, Suna knows he means it.

When he inches forward, Suna holds Osamu close. He feels heavy and solid against him, elbows braced on either side of Suna’s head. When they’re as close as can be, Suna runs his fingers back and forth across the buzz of Osamu’s undercut as Osamu pauses to catch his breath. “Osamu,” Suna says. He tugs a little at the crown of Osamu’s head. Osamu flexes his hips upwards suddenly, eliciting a gasp from Suna. “Osamu. Please. _Please_.”

Osamu fucks him slow this time, even though Suna wants him to move faster. He slips one hand under the small of Suna’s back for support, and finds the angle that works for them both. Suna’s whines dissolve into breaths.

When Osamu peels back a bit, his hand moves from Suna’s back to his erection nestled between them, and he pumps with the same slow rhythm of his thrusts. His eye contact never wavers. It’s amazing, really, how Osamu doesn’t need to do more than just _look_ at Suna for Suna to feel seen. _That_ is perhaps the most provocative element of every time they have sex or cuddle or flirt. Sometimes it’s sexy and sometimes it’s not, but the one constant between them is the way Suna—notorious for hiding behind bored, tired expressions—can’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve when he’s around Osamu. Judging by the ache in Osamu’s eyes and the breathy way he mutters, _Rin_ , it’s the same for Osamu, too.

His eyes don’t leave Suna’s for a moment, and Suna comes with one of Osamu’s hands cupping the curve of his cheek, fingers brushing the stray hairs on his forehead.

Osamu finishes not long after with three more thrusts of his hips, and he slumps his weight against Suna’s body, face pressed into the pillow. Suna can hear his breathing, and he feels the tacky mess that’s pooled between their stomachs. It’s gross, but Suna doesn’t mind, and neither does Osamu.

“Maybe gettin’ laid can help my stress levels,” Osamu mumbles, and Suna chuckles in a post-orgasm haze. 

“Maybe.” Suna pushes Osamu’s head up to face him. He rummages the drawer of the nightstand to find the almost-empty pack of wipes. Osamu pulls away and flops onto his back, chest heaving, hand instinctively catching Suna’s and lacing their fingers together. “Or maybe things will get better soon.”

Suna cleans the mess on his stomach and wipes at Osamu’s torso as well. Osamu reaches down to peel off the condom and toss it into the bedside trash can before pulling Suna to his chest. Suna resists long enough to throw the wipes away. Osamu digs his face into Suna’s hair and breathes in before letting out a heavy exhale. “How can you be so sure?”

How _can_ Suna be sure? He doesn’t know, exactly, when he became the sort of person to say seemingly baseless claims about how things will turn out. But there’s nothing baseless about Osamu’s drive, ambition, and passion. And there’s nothing baseless about Suna’s faith in Osamu to see his dreams out to fruition.

“Because I know you.” Suna closes his eyes and tucks his head onto the curve of Osamu’s shoulder. “And I know you’ll make it happen, one way or another.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Suna drifts off to sleep to Osamu murmuring, “Thanks, Rin,” while tracing small circles on Suna’s hip with his thumb. When he wakes up the next morning to the incessant alarm, the blankets are askew and he’s splayed out across the mattress, skin cold to touch from the chilly morning air.

Suna’s eyes blink open, dry and swollen from fatigue. It takes him a few moments to gather his bearings, to fumble around for his phone buried beneath his pillow, and he shuts it off with a grunt. It’s still in the room, as quiet as the eye of a storm, and when Suna turns his head, his heart flutters at the sight of Osamu sleeping soundly beside him, bathed in the warm sunlight creeping through the windows as a new day begins.


End file.
